


X

by martyrologics



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Brainwashing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other, POV Second Person, Rape/Non-con Elements, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martyrologics/pseuds/martyrologics
Summary: “Brain,” Watcher X says, “is chemistry.”
Relationships: Hunter/Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	X

**Author's Note:**

> Old, very short ~ artsy~ exploration of second person POV. Undefined gender/species Imperial Agent protagonist.

“Brain,” Watcher X says, “is chemistry.” He’s in your head now, maybe he’s always been there. 

"A little bit of poison makes you a machine and crazy.”

Beneath the digital disguise, Hunter is a woman. This too, you know, she’ll make you forget, wipe your mind like a droid’s memory card. A machine indeed.

“But even violated, you remain yourself,” Watcher X consoles as you crawl towards Hunter as ordered, dragging your body across the dusty floor like a funny little akk-dog.

“Don’t mourn the integrity of your body. It's not a temple, it’s a prison for your consciousness.”

The layer of dust is thinner on your path than anywhere else. This isn’t the first time, then?

“And yours,” you think, but don’t say it, can’t say it. You were ordered to use your mouth, but not to speak.

“And mine,” Watcher X agrees amenably, and his shadow is there, by the dirty windows that filter in the reddish Quesh light, making his turned back look as if it were streaked in blood.

Human skin tastes of salt and burns the tongue with its heat. There were times you found those sensations not entirely unpleasant. Now you wish you could block them, block them all out. Now you wish you could at least close your eyes.

“It’ll pass,” Watcher X says sorrowfully.

“What will pass?” you think, watching yourself through your own eyes. “My heart through my guts?”

Tonight, you know, you will stalk sleepless, restless circles around the Phantom, and in the showers you will cover your face with your hands, and you will not remember why you can smell Hunter under your fingernails.

The paranoia, this grain of sand gathering filth within the recesses of your brain, will grow and harden into a cold pearl of terror and you will lash out, take out your frustration on an unfortunate crewmember who will come up too close, and you will feel justified.

Just as well. There’s no good reason you should suffer alone. 

*** 

_"Are you allowing me to touch you like this because you respect my right to do so," the Keeper asked you back then, sounding mildly disappointed, "or are you just not in control right now?"_

_Gloved fingers slip under your jaw, and your spine snaps taunt as you forget it, forget it all, even how to breathe. The fingers slip lower, following the lines of your neck, down to your chest and to your hands, folded neatly in your lap._

_"Unpleasant, isn't it," the Keeper says, looking for any sign of rebellion in your empty eyes and finding none. He grasps your sides and pulls you up from the chair, the buckles of the now-loosened restraints jingle-jangling. You feel as if something shattered inside you, pieces of cold glass in your guts, but your heartbeat is steady. You don’t make a move to protect yourself, and the Keeper sighs._

_"Wrong, agent," he says. "You're a property of the Sith. But you're not a toy, and I can’t have you letting anyone treat you as such. Not even myself, do you understand?"_

_You don’t. You look pleadingly into the Keeper’s eyes. The pain was so much kinder than that. His presence is your only point of reference in this empty white room with a chair in the middle. (Your chair, you came to think of it as, after a while.) And his disappointment bites to the marrow._

_“We will talk about this again, once the command protocol is fully implanted ,” the Keeper promises, taking your hands into his and dispassionately watching both pairs shake. "Maybe it's for the best. Not all atrocities at once."_

*** 

Hunter gives you the command. Your world is narrowed down, and when the wires embedded within the network of your nervous system are pulled, you obey ever so gracefully.

“Enjoy it, Legate.” The pain of dissonance licks at your temples like tongues of fire when your keyed-in body tries to catch up to Hunter’s perverted mind. “As much as I.”

And Hunter’s enjoyment, obediently mirrored in yours, is ugly and short, and feels like sickness.


End file.
